


Christmastide

by D20Owlbear



Series: Love and Joy and Happiness [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Priests, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Christmas Fluff, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Father Crowley - Freeform, Father Fell, HE'LL GET THERE EVENTUALLY I PROMISE, Lots of Aziraphale's thoughts about how much he loves Crowley, M/M, Oblivious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Priest Aziraphale, Priest Crowley, Priests AU, Really this is about the after, There's mass to be done and Crowley and Aziraphale get through it just fine, after mass, based on gayforgoodomens' priests au; still, i barely remember any homily let alone know how the fuck mass goes, i've been once and it wasn't even catholic technically, no you do not have to sit through a mass to read this, rated G for Dutch Baby pancakes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:46:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28304034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/D20Owlbear/pseuds/D20Owlbear
Summary: Midnight Masses are over and Father Fell is very tired, but hungrier than that. Luckily, Father Crowley made breakfast, Father Fell's favorite.Aziraphale wasn't sure when he'd started loving Crowley, but every day he thought he couldn't love him more, he's proven wrong. It's all the simple things that make love grow, after all.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Love and Joy and Happiness [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1938955
Comments: 26
Kudos: 80
Collections: Clerical Omens





	Christmastide

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much to [@lana_fox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lana_fox) for your beta read through and help!
> 
> Merry Christmas to those who celebrate, happy holidays to those who celebrate something else, and season's greetings for those of you who don't celebrate anything! <3

Though they were a small parish, out in the southern countryside in England, where more often than not Christians belong to the Church of England rather than the Roman Catholic denomination, Father Fell did his best to accommodate both tradition as well as those who couldn't adhere to it. Midnight mass is, indeed, held at midnight, but their parish holds another on Christmas Eve.

Father Crowley (well, Decon, Father Fell reminded himself, but isn't too troubled by it since Bishop Gabriel had introduced him as a Father initially) had taken the earlier mass they held. For one, it made Midnight Mass accessible to those with small children or who could not stay up for the service in full for whatever reason. Those who were sick or those who worked on Christmas day to keep the rest of their world running, Father Fell had never wanted to deprive them of the ability to celebrate and take part in important holidays.

It had a secondary feature in that it made the _actual_ Midnight Mass that much shorter since there were fewer people at the late service to take communion (as a good number had opted for the evening homily and communion instead). He, along with the choir of volunteers and Father Crowley, were all quite happy about being able to go back to their beds —or at least out for breakfast— at 1:30 A.M. rather than 2 or 2:30 A.M., really that half hour made all the difference.

With a yawn stifled behind a lithe hand, Father Crowley saw out the rest of their shared flock as Aziraphale stowed the vestments away for the next service.

"Oh, _Crowley_ ," Aziraphale yawned back with a bit of a glare, "You can't start yawning now, otherwise you'll get me going too!"

Crowley simply snickered like that one dastardly dog in that old cartoon but pulled Aziraphale into half of a hug, arm slung around his shoulders. Lazily, Aziraphale let his own arm wrap around Crowley's back and his thumb hang from the belt loop on the opposite side, the palm of his hand nearly engulfing the ridge of Crowley's hip… Crowley squeaked a laugh, just like he always did when Aziraphale touched him back, like he wasn't used to it. Or, perhaps, simply wasn't used to being touched gently.

Aziraphale knew enough of Crowley's past, what scraps of it he'd learned and hoarded in his memory throughout the years, to know that it hadn't been easy. Certainly hadn't been _good_ , and it was a wonder and a half that Crowley was so… kind. He was kind and thoughtful and utterly generous with his time and spirit, and there was nothing in Aziraphale that wasn't grateful for him.

He hadn't realized how touch starved he was, not until Crowley had come around. And even then, not until nearly a year of living together. Aziraphale rarely initiated contact, he was too used to being in a position of power or authority at this point, and he'd _never_ want to make any of his flock feel like they had to welcome unwanted contact for something so simple as a listening ear. Sometimes, in the throes of grief or some other resonant emotion, one of his parishioners would lunge to embrace him, often to cry on his shoulder, and he would soothe them. But that felt far more like a job, his duty, than it did something that fed his soul.

And then Crowley tugged him into his arms one day when he'd come back to the parsonage after a difficult day of house visits. There had been a death in the family, one of his own, and a lovely young man who had been coming to his services ever since he was a toddler. Handling the family's grief as well as his own in a way that benefitted them… that had been hard, and draining. And then Crowley, without needing to ask what had happened, simply let him exist and be touched and ran his hand through Aziraphale's hair until he stopped crying. After that, it had slowly become more common for them to touch casually; grabbing one another's hand to help them up in the garden, tapping on shoulders for attention, maneuvering the other through a tight space or a crowd with a hand on the small of their back, all of it was so wholly… _good_ that it made Aziraphale want to cry every time he thought about it.

It made him think of God, and how the communion and fellowship of humans was supposed to be like, where, at their best, humans could be entirely unafraid of each other and could lift each other up and bolster and support no matter what storm raged around them. And that, Aziraphale saw, was good. Rather than crying, Aziraphale prayed. It was never long, it was never all that intricate either. Just a few simple words:

_Thank you, my God, for sending me Crowley._

It was the prayer he prayed most often these days, and he found himself thinking it now, sending his thoughts to the Lord, and utterly filled with joy at their easy camaraderie. So, Crowley squeaked his customary laugh and stiffened at Aziraphale's casual touch for a millisecond before leaning into it, and Aziraphale very politely looked the other way whenever that happened, because Crowley would tell him why if he wanted Aziraphale to know. And that was that.

"C'mon, angel," Crowley drawled and tugged at his shoulder, as if he wouldn't happily go wherever Crowley led him, towards the kitchen. "I made breakfast."

"You're a dear," Aziraphale murmured with a happy sigh, laying his temple tiredly on Crowley's shoulder and closing his eyes, gladly trusting his dearest friend to navigate them through hallways and rooms they were both more than familiar with. "Just what would I do without you, darling?"

Crowley grumbled at the compliments as he always did, and Aziraphale smiled without opening his eyes, he knew that if he had looked the man would be red in the face and protesting at the truth. "Go hungry, I s'pect."

Aziraphale laughed under his breath and stumbled the last step into the kitchen. Crowley's arm on his shoulder, and his own arm around the man's waist, kept him from falling, just as he knew it would. Aziraphale opened his eyes and waited for the bleariness to settle before untangling himself from Crowley and settling into a chair so he wouldn't pull them both down for not looking where he stepped.

"What have you got for me, dear?"

"Breakfast, of course," Crowley teased and turned to the stove to pull out a skillet filled with a still-warm dutch baby, already powdered lightly with sugar. A trivet on the table quickly became its resting place and Crowley spread out some butter and clotted cream and a mix of fresh berries and just a bit of home-made orange-cranberry syrup.

"I've got mulled, non-alcoholic cider and hot cocoa at the ready, d'ya want either?" Crowley brandished two thermoses of drink (one of them was tartan, of course, and the other was black and sleek), gesturing with one then the other as he mentioned them.

Aziraphale froze in his seat where he was marveling at the pancake and nearly cried then and there, something must have shown on his face because Crowley quickly set the thermoses down and knelt at Aziraphale's feet, gathering Aziraphale's hands between his own and cradling them to his chest.

"Oh, oh no, Aziraphale– I'm so sorry– I… I didn't mean to–" Crowley stuttered, but Aziraphale cut him off.

"No! No, my dear, it's not that, you've not done anything wrong at all, of course not, my dear." Aziraphale sniffled and he was sure his face was unattractively ruddy (though it was just him and Crowley, and anyway, he was a priest, what did he care for being unattractive anything?) but he didn't actually spill tears, and for that he was grateful. "It's just… Oh, I don't know. I don't know how to put it into words, surely you understand?"

Crowley's eyes never left Aziraphale's as he spoke, and he only seemed to look around afterwards reluctantly to take in the kitchen. Slowly Aziraphale watched the realization set in and Crowley nodded with a sigh. For all that Aziraphale had the scraps of Crowley's past, Crowley had swathes of Aziraphale's own. Enough, at least, to infer quite a lot about how he's feeling and why.

"M sorry," Crowley muttered and lowered his forehead to Aziraphale's knee, their hands still clutched to Crowley's chest. It was a bit awkward, but Aziraphale didn't mind it, though he did wish he had a hand free to– oh sod it, it was Christmas, he could do this one thing, right? Gently pulling one of his hands from Crowley's grasp, he laid it atop Crowley's head and stroked his fingers through short hair that curled slightly at the ends. Crowley had alluded to having something like ringlets when his hair grew out, though these days he only ever kept it too short for the curls to come back, and Aziraphale sorely missed it. Can you miss something you've never seen before and only heard of? Perhaps.

"Nothing to be sorry for, my dear boy," Aziraphale whispered, voice just as low as Crowley's, like the both of them were worried about breaking whatever tenuous _something_ they had here. "Just… I wasn't expecting it, you know?"

Crowley huffed a laugh, "Are we gonna do this every year, angel?" He shuffled as if he wanted to turn his head and look up at Aziraphale, to make eye contact again, but decided against it when Aziraphale scratched gently at his scalp.

"Oh, maybe not _every_ year," Aziraphale replied cheerily, cheeks still red and blotchy with his flush of embarrassment. "Just one more, perhaps."

"You said that last time too!" Crowley laughed, Aziraphale couldn't help but join in, he'd never been able to resist the full-bodied and genuine way Crowley laughed.

"And the time before that, and the time before that. Oh, goodness, have you really been here for _that_ long? What is it now, this is your fifth Christmas here, isn't it?" Aziraphale jerked a little when Crowley's breath came out in a sharp huff against his leg, and quickly let go of his hair. "Sorry my dear, I didn't mean to pull, I hope it didn't hurt!"

"No, 's fine, didn't hurt…" Crowley quickly stood and dropped Aziraphale's hands, taking the seat beside him in a flash. "Do– do you want me to pick for you?" Crowley offered gently.

"I'm alright, my dear, nothing so overwhelming now," Aziraphale could practically feel his eyes sparkle with his happiness and his heart just about burst with the simple joy of someone loving you enough to make your favorite breakfast when you're tired, "I'd like the hot cocoa, if you please."

Crowley smirked and handed over the tartan thermos, the wily man already knew! Aziraphale's heart swelled again at the simple, common, utterly un-unique joy of being known and he prayed to God once more so early in the morning, while all the world was still dark and the parishioners were home or at breakfast like he was.

_Thank you, for bringing Crowley to me. I sorely needed him._


End file.
